The first time I remember trying eggplant was at Trinacria, this quaint Italian restaurant in downtown Olympia, Washington. The owner and chef, Eugenio Alio, a Sicilian, only uses ingredients traditionally found in Sicilian cooking. Therefore, there is no such thing as pepperoni. It is sausage, folks. Sausage. Which, of course, is completely different than the American idea of pepperoni.

The dishes he serves are simple—lasagna, spaghetti with pomodoro or ragu sauce, penne with broccoli. And Sicilian pizzas, or, what we Americans call calzones. But they are insanely tasty.

I can’t remember why I decided to try an eggplant dish, or if I ordered the Penne Norma or the Norma Sicilian Pizza. (Both excellent!) What matters is that my first experience with eggplant was at Trinacria, and it set the standard for every eggplant dish thereafter. It was melt in your mouth creamy. It was divine. So far, it is the only eggplant, served by a restaurant, I’ve truly enjoyed.

Many Italian restaurants list eggplant Parmesan on their menu, and this is probably the dish that comes to mind when you hear the word eggplant, though it is widely used in many cultures. The problem, however, is that most restaurants serve eggplant Parmesan deep-fried. Yuck. There is no faster way to ruin the taste of eggplant than to saturate it in old frying oil, in my humble opinion. Eggplant tends to absorb flavors, and the last thing I want to taste in my dish is an overabundance of oil. Even if it’s good oil. And often, you’re left with the rubbery texture of undercooked eggplant because deep-frying doesn’t, in my experience, completely break down the cell walls. Double yuck.

So as not to be limited in my eggplant experiences, I set out to learn how to prepare it like Eugino Alio does. I’ve found roasting it in a hot oven works best, though the Sunday’s at Moosewood Restaurant cookbook has a wonderful recipe for baked eggplant sandwiches. The key to great eggplant, however, lies in how you prepare it. It must be salted, pressed, and left to drain for a minimum of one hour.

Sounds complicated, but it’s really quite simple. It does mean you must allow yourself ample time, but you can come home, start the eggplant, open a bottle of wine, and begin prepping the rest of the dish, and really, it’s no problem at all. And the results are definitely worth it. The salting removes the bitterness of the seeds, and allowing the salt to sit and penetrate the eggplant breaks down its cell walls, which makes it more tender.

Here’s exactly how I do it:

Thinly slice, or dice, one eggplant. Place it, in layers, in a colander, making sure to salt each layer. I salt lightly. Take a heavy bowl, or a bowl loaded with canned goods, and place it on top of the colander. Press down and let it rest that way for a minimum of one hour. If the eggplant is relatively seedless, one hour will be plenty. If it’s packed with seeds, more time might be necessary. After an hour or two has elapsed, take a paper towel and blot the eggplant to remove excess salt. Now it’s ready for roasting or baking, or frying, if you must.

Now that we’ve got that covered, here’s the eggplant inspired dish I came up with. Eugenio Alio eat your heart out.

Penne Norma with Sweet Sausage and Roasted Garlic

Ingredients:

1 lb. penne pasta
1 medium eggplant
1 lb. sweet Italian sausage (not the skinny breakfast links)
28 oz. can tomatoes in puree
14 oz. can whole tomatoes
1 head garlic, roasted (I’ll tell you how in a minute)
fresh basil
fresh thyme
¼ -1/2 cup red wine
olive oil
Parmesan cheese
salt, pepper, dried basil, marjoram, and garlic powder

1. Get that eggplant going per the directions above. For this recipe, dice it.

2. For that head of garlic that’s to be roasted: Remove the outermost papery layer. Place in a small oven-safe dish, drizzle with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Pour a small amount of water into the bottom of the dish, cover with aluminum foil, and roast in a 375 degree oven for 35-45 minutes, or until fork tines sink into the cloves. Remove from oven, allow to cool, then squeeze the cloves out of their casings. Reserve.

3. Once your eggplant is done draining, place it in a large casserole dish and toss it with a couple of tablespoons of olive oil and a bunch of fresh thyme. Roast, uncovered, in a 400 degree oven for about forty minutes, or until thoroughly tender. (Be sure to stir often, as you don’t want sticking to occur. Also, don’t be concerned if the eggplant looks very dry during the first half of the process. Continue to roast and stir, and it will soften and get brown and creamy looking. I promise.)

4. Add your roasted garlic to the eggplant during the last ten minutes of roasting.

5. Once you have your eggplant in the oven, pan-fry your sausages. Brown each side, turn the heat to low, and let cook until almost done. Slice them into thick slices and finish cooking, browning each side.

6. To make the sauce, combine the tomato puree, the whole tomatoes, the red wine, a teaspoon or so of fresh thyme, and the dried spices. Chop up the whole tomatoes with the back of your spoon, and let simmer while your pasta cooks. A note on the wine: If you’re drinking red wine with your meal, reserve a bit of that. If not, I keep a four pack of 187 ml bottles on hand for just this purpose.

7. Cook your pasta in a large pot of boiling, salted water. When done, reserve ¼ cup of the pasta water, then drain the penne in a colander.

8. In a large bowl, toss the penne with the pasta water (this prevents the pasta from sticking). Add the eggplant, the sausage, and the sauce, then top with fresh basil slivers, freshly grated Parmesan cheese, and fresh ground pepper for those who like it.

Okay, so I set out to set the record straight about the difference between a sweet potato and a yam, but the more I read, the more sources I consulted, the more confused I became.

One is orange. The other is white. Wait. Both are orange. No, no, no. The flesh of a sweet potato is yellow. And if you don’t like those colors, there’s also purple, pink and dark brown! Aaaarrgh!

Let me break it down for you.

According to The Joy of Cooking, when they say sweet potatoes, they are referring to the yellow-gray to brown skin kind, the ones with the yellowish-white, dry, mealy flesh. When they say yam, they mean those with the copper skin and sweet, orange flesh. Okay, good. That’s what I thought. But wait! They go on to say that true yams are not related to any of these sweet potatoes. “They are tropical tubers with crisp, bland, white to yellow flesh.” Huh? So why call it a yam, if it’s really a sweet potato? That’s ridiculous and erroneous, if you ask me.

Looking at The Essential Cookbook, which is loaded with information and pictures on almost every type of food and cooking equipment you can think of, confirmed that those orange things that we call yams, are indeed sweet potatoes. Their pictures show an orange-fleshed sweet potato, and a yellow-fleshed variety, though the look the same to me. According to them, the yam, on the other hand, is white or yellow, similar in texture to potatoes, and is much sweeter and moister than the sweet potato.

Yeah, that didn’t help, did it? What about that yellow-white, mealy, dry sweet potato The Joy of Cooking mentioned? And why do they say true yams are bland, when The Essential Cookbook claims they are moist and sweet?

Let’s turn to source number three: the Sunday’s at Moosewood Restaurant Cookbook. They say that, in the United States, all those orange tubers, large or small, short or long, tan-colored or brick-red, are all sweet potatoes. True yams are white fleshed and grow only in tropical countries. Well, that’s nice, but bananas grow only in tropical countries, and we can get them!!

They also say there are two varieties of the sweet potato: the dry flesh and the moist flesh. The potatoes with the brick red exterior are moist flesh, and are the type most often mislabeled yams.

This still didn’t entirely clarify the issue for me. While I can now positively assert that those orange-fleshed things are sweet potatoes, I’m still confused about the yam. Since The Joy of Cooking is the only source that, so far, mentions a yellowish-white variety of a sweet potato, I have to wonder if they are wrong. Is this actually a yam? And if the yam is only grown in tropical climates, and not often found in markets in the United States, then what were those thick tannish-yellow skinned things with the sweet white flesh I bought from Safeway last year but haven’t been able to find since? Was that a yam? Did I actually taste a true yam? The elusive, true, yam?

To try and answer that question, I did some digging online. On the Seeds of Knowledge website, I found an article by Jennifer A. Wickes the editor at “Cookbook Reviews” and “Cooking With The Seasons.” She said there are two varieties of the sweet potato, and one is, indeed, a pale version.

The botany site at UCLA sounded eerily like The Joy of Cooking, saying “sweet potato has many cultivated forms, but in the United States two forms are common: (1) the dry, mealy, yellow sweet potato, and (2) the watery, orange ‘yam,’ which is not, of course, a true yam.” But okay, I was getting somewhere. There is a white-fleshed variety in addition the more common orange-fleshed kind. And both are sweet potatoes. Well, unless they are yams…

I was still not sure if what I purchased last year was a true yam. But looking at the pictures at The Cook’s Thesaurus has me thinking not. Sweet potato number four is the culprit. And it is, indeed, a sweet potato. (The kind I like better, in fact!) So unless you’re in the tropics, or a specialty market, you’ll most certainly be purchasing sweet potatoes. No matter what they are labeled.